When You Have Wounds
by Euria Diamond
Summary: spoilers DH.Voldemort's death did not end the war.After getting control of Grimmauld Place again, Draco Malfoy needs to stay at headquarters.He doesn't really speak to anyone, Hermione gets guilted into watching him for a week, alone, while everyones away
1. The House Guest

**JKR OWNS. **

**When You Have Wounds  
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_Chapter One_

_The House Guest _

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Voldemort's death did not end the war. Not entirely anyway. After the battle at Hogwarts, there were still many death eaters on the loose. Many of them were trying to build up followers and replace their leader. The idea of muggle-borns being inferior was still extremely palpable. And many witches and wizards were still frightened that Voldemort may come back, seeing as he did once before after Harry defeated him. Some death eaters were in a new temporary prison, such as Lucius Malfoy although he had attempted to redeem himself. Others still roamed, fighting each other, or anyone who got in their way. Just a few days after the final battle, The Order of the Phoenix was still going strong, with Harry at the helm, and everyone else who was left. It obviously wasn't the same without Tonks, Lupin, Mad-Eye, and of course Fred, and not to mention Sirius and Dumbledore. But they made do and celebrated their lives.

However, now that Voldemort was dead the Order thought that it would once again be safe for the Dursley's to be out of protection; and Hermione lifted the memory charms off of her parents. But there was one slight downfall; the Order would be taking a new charge into their protection at Number 12 Grimmauld Place:

"Draco Malfoy will be needing our assistance for a while." Arthur Weasley said, sitting at the head of the table while everyone enjoyed breakfast. In attendance were Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, and Molly.

"What?"

"Dad, that's mad!"

"Mr. Weasley, I don't know if that's such a good idea…"

Arthur had been expected that sort of a response and he waited for the cries of protest to subside. "Just listen to him!"

"Thank you Molly." Arthur continued, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "Now I know that none of you are shall I say…friendly with Draco - "

"Nope," said George, "Not even close, not even acquaintances, in fact, I think most of us here hate him, maybe we should just hex him until his wand gets stuck up his - "

"George!" Molly's voice sounded from the kitchen sink.

"However, we've offered our assistance-"

"_We_ have?" Harry put in, as he dropped his fork. Ginny nudged him in the ribs.

"_Yes! _We have. Now can I _please_ finish?" The room went silent and Arthur sat back in his chair. "Good. Now with Lucius in prison, Narcissa believes that - "

"You actually had a conversation with that woman?" Ginny's voice now interrupted. "I didn't know she could - " She went silent as her mother shot her a look of warning.

Arthur went on, now with a short tone in his voice. "Narcissa believes that this is the safest place for Draco at the moment, now that we've got control of it again, seeing as he is so young, and still recovering from severe injuries. Lord only knows how he got them."

"Mr. Weasley," Hermione's interjection wasn't as outspoken as her friends' but still as strong, "What kind of injuries...?"

Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead briefly. "Through the course of several curses put upon him, coupled with the battle and whatever happened before, Draco has managed to end up with several broken ribs, eight or nine at least, a concussion, I think a broken arm or leg, and heart and lung damage that _may _be…well, permanent."

The occupants of the table looked at one another, almost beginning to feel sorry for Malfoy; this joint feeling passed just as quickly as it came. Arthur had the full attention of the table; everyone had stopped eating and even Mrs. Weasley was standing with a pan dripping over the floor.

"But those kinds of things are easily fixed right? Just a simple healing spell would work…couldn't he stay at St. Mungo's?" Ron asked.

"Ron, you have to understand, you-know-who may be dead," Arthur still hadn't worked up the nerve to say the name, "but there is still a lot of danger. It would be better keeping him in contact with real people, not just other patients, who may be death eaters in hiding." He looked at his wife briefly. "Besides, with the kinds of curses he's had to endure, some injuries heal no faster than muggle wounds, at best. Especially with the condition his heart is in."

A long silence filled the room as Hermione put down her fork. Nobody seemed to know how to react. Laughing would be rude, and nobody seemed to actually think the situation was funny. Most looked down at their plates absent-mindedly. Draco Malfoy had never been anything but mean to any of them, especially Hermione. With the war, the Mudblood nonsense had only increased. Even though nobody saw him except for the brief stint at the Malfoy manner, he had taunted her for six years. He picked on Ron for having less money, and Harry for his fame. But Hermione didn't think that they hurt as badly as she.

Money and fame are material. Her blood is who she is.

"When does he arrive, Arthur?" Molly's placid voice penetrated Hermione's thoughts.

Arthur looked at the clock and stood up. "Any minute now, actually. Hermione, you're going to sharing with Ginny now, so Draco can have your room. Would you mind going up to move your things?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not at all." She was grateful to be out of the kitchen, as she started upstairs to the room she usually called her own while she was at Number 12. Her door creaked open just as she heard another downstairs, and the voice of Charlie Weasley entering. She looked around quickly, and began to gather her things. Then she realised what an idiot she was being. A simple charm helped her belongings zoom into her old school trunk, which she sent into Ginny's room.

The news of Malfoy coming to Headquarters startled her quite a bit. She didn't know exactly what to think. She hated him, obviously, but what now? Was she expected to be nice to him? Was Harry going to have to _do_ things for him? She shook her head of curly hair as she took one last room at her former bedroom. She had spent a good few nights in there, and a handful of them were with Ron. It had never been more than innocent kissing…although she could remember loosing her shirt once or twice. And she remembered sneaking him out before everyone woke up after then had fallen asleep, fully clothed, in each other's arms.

_"Ron, ssh! You'll wake the whole house!" Hermione giggled quietly as she pushed him toward the door._

_Ron turned them around so Hermione was between him and the door. She had her hand on the knob, but didn't turn it. Ron smiled and bent his head to kiss her once as she turned the knob and backed out into the hall._

"_You're killing me here, Hermione." Ron whispered._

"_I think you'll survive until tomorrow," she said, smiling. He held her close with his arms around her waist, looking down at hre. She could feel his slow, even breath on her face. She lifted her face, as if to kiss him again, and then decided against it, slipping away. Ron tugged on the hem of her shirt as she pulled the door, as if to keep her from escaping. She peered out with just a sliver of her face visible to him through a crack in the door. Ron looked crestfallen as she went out of view. _

"_Goodnight Ronald." And she closed the door._

Hermione smiled at the memory, and brought herself back to the present. She hadn't heard much from downstairs and decided to check it out. After checking to make sure her trunk made it's way to Ginny's room she found her self at the base of the stairs.

"Lovely, Granger's here too." Said a very sarcastic, but weary voice from across the room. Draco Malfoy sat in a muggle type wheelchair with a crutch across his lap in the kitchen. Mr. And Mrs. Weasley stood with Charlie, while Ginny, Ron and Harry were still seated at the table.

"You know she's got a first name too." Ron said defensively as Hermione sat next to him, arms crossed. His arm slipped around her waist instinctively. She felt comfortable again and dropped her arms into her lap.

"Yes sorry," Malfoy went on, "Mudblood Granger. My apologies."

Harry shot him a dark look. "I would prefer you not use that word in _my _house."

"Your house? I thought this was a Black house, Potter."

Molly stepped in. "Harry's godfather was kind enough to leave it to Harry in his will, isn't that right?"

Malfoy glanced up at her with a look of something close to dislike, but her kind demeanour diluted the effect of the glare.

"I've got to go." Charlie said suddenly. "I need to be back at work tomorrow. I'll be in touch. Mum, Dad." He hugged his mother and shook his fathers hand along with a clap on the back, and left.

Another silence, similar to the one that had been present just a few minutes before came upon the eight people present in the kitchen. Malfoy shifted his eyes from person to person. George looked blankly straight ahead, arms crossed. Ginny sat on Harry's lap, his chin on her shoulder. Hermione looked down at her hands, and then glanced quickly up.

Malfoy was in quite a state. One arm was in a sling, bandages wrapped around his torso, and the crutch seemed to be for support when walking on his one good leg. The other was in a muggle style cast that Hermione had been familiar with, having broken her leg skiing one winter.

"I'd like to talk very seriously with you all for a moment." Arthur took the lead again and went to stand were everyone could see him. "Now, I know none of you have _ever_ gotten along. But we've known for a few years now that we would have to work together eventually. Draco is our responsibility now. And we have to at least be civil with one another. Understand?"

Malfoy stiffened slightly at the sound of his name, but nodded, as did everyone else. He heard faint murmurs of 'fine' and 'sure'. But he didn't know where they came from.

"I want no more of this 'Mudblood' business or anyone name calling from _anyone_. It's childish. Now Ron, George, Harry I'd like it if you would help Draco up to his room, so he can get settled."

The three boys exchanged looks, and grudgingly got up, not wanting to cross Mr. Weasley. Harry took Malfoy's bags, while Ron and George managed to get him up the two flights of stairs.

Malfoy hadn't said much to anyone since his arrival at the house, besides his brief tête-à-tête with Granger. Potter and the two Weasleys left his bags at the side of the bed so it was easy access to unpack. He used magic, of course, not being able to fully function physically. As his items zoomed around the room he remembered the _warm_ welcome he had received upon his arrival.

The way that Weasley was sitting on Potters lap made him want to break his own ribs again. But the fact that the _other_ Weasley had finally noticed the Mudblood gave him a strange twinge of something that could have been accomplishment. Even though it wasn't his.

After his belongings were unpacked he carefully got himself fully on the bed and laid back, adjusting the pillows. There was a faint scent of jasmine from somewhere around him. He knew because his mother wore jasmine perfume. But here there was something else mixed…a fruit. He assumed it was whatever the bedding had been washed in.

He still couldn't believe his parents had forced him into this. Though he was a bit grateful for the protection in his current state, he couldn't say the people he was with were exactly the clan he had hoped for. There was too much tension. He didn't expect to leave the room at all while he was here, only if he absolutely had to. He wouldn't eat if that were what it took. He didn't want to get into it with the people in the house. It wasn't worth arguing. His mind was still pretty sharp, even though he did have a concussion, but he wouldn't be throwing any punches or casting any serious hexes anytime soon. It was better to just keep to himself.

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reviews? would be lovely 

this is going to be another long one, folks. I'm looking forward to it.


	2. The Existence of a Malfoy

**THANK YOU** for your reviews. I'm glad for the good opening opinions! Enjoy chapter two. xx

_Chapter Two_

_The Existence of a Malfoy_

Nearly a week had passed and there was still an odd sense of tension in the house Malfoy hadn't come out of his room as far as anyone knew. Not even for meals. Mrs. Weasley left a tray outside his door three times a day with a meal and his potions to help heal his broken bones and exactly one hour later an empty tray reappeared in front of the door.

Hermione would normally help Molly clean the house while Harry helped Arthur with 'official business, top secret' things. Ron, still being the rather lazy one, opted for games of exploding snap or chess with George or Ginny. No one dared to go up to Malfoy's room.

On the next Wednesday morning, a week long trip to Diagon Alley was planned, to check up on things there and at the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone was supposed to go originally. But there was one small new detail.

"Someone has to stay for Draco." Molly announced, as they were getting ready to depart. Everyone looked at one another, nobody wanted the job.

"Well, Ginny can stay…-"

"No she can't!" Harry butted in.

"Harry why don't you…"

"Harry _has_ to come."

Molly fidgeted and looked around. "Harry can't stay and neither can Arthur or I. Ginny…you're too young, I don't want you here alone with him. George wanted to look in on the shop. And well, Ron, I think you may hex Draco if you got the chance.

They all breathed sighs of relief that none of them were plucked into going. Hermione's eyes widened at Molly.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. But you're the only one who doesn't _have_ to go. You'll have to stay here and take care of him.

Hermione stammered. "Take _care _of him…?"

"Bring up his food tray and potions and such. Would you mind?"

She looked at her friend's faces and almost refused. It just wasn't _fair_. But in the end she played the good witch. "Fine," she mumbled, removing her cloak and tossing it on the couch.

Molly gave her a warm smile and led everyone out the door. Ron stayed behind for a moment.

"If he gives you trouble, just threaten him," he said seriously.

"Ron, he hasn't been out of his room in over a week, I don't think we'll be having much conversation, or even contact." Hermione smiled at him.

"Still." He took her hands and kissed her. "Don't let him – well, his presence - get to you."

Hermione nodded quickly and Ron kissed her forehead once before turning away again. She pulled him back and brought her hands to rest on his shoulders.

"It's just a week," Ron said to her.

"A _whole_ week." Hermione corrected him.

He smiled at her and kissed her once more. "I think you'll survive," he whispered.

"Very funny." She let her hands fall and he turned away again, following everyone else out the door

Hermione turned back and walked into the empty kitchen. Plates were still strewn about the table, creating a lonely, but active atmosphere. She wondered why she was the one who was forced to stay alone for an entire week with Malfoy upstairs. Mrs. Weasley didn't _have_ to go…except for the fact that three of her children and her husband were going. She would want to look out for them.

Though she was curious. Apparently Malfoy had been eating, and seeing as there wasn't a stench coming from the room he must be getting up at some time to use the bathroom and bathe. But nobody seemed to notice.

After deciding to clean the kitchen, Hermione made her way up the stairs, figuring that she would be doing a lot of reading and writing letters in the next week. The steps creaked slightly as she opened the door to her and Ginny's room. She quickly found a few books, parchment, ink and a quill before exiting again. She glanced down the hall once, and then did a double take. There was an empty tray sitting outside her old bedroom door, only littered with a plate and fork.

Almost turning away and forgetting about it, something made her go back, and kneel down to pick up the tray while she balanced her other items in the other hand. Curiosity got the best of her and she pressed an ear to the door, searching for a sound. After a moment or two she thought she heard the scratching of a quill, but it could have just as easily been the ragged breathing of someone with lung damage in a deep sleep.

Hermione turned on her heel silently and walked back down the hall, and carefully stepping downstairs into the kitchen. She dropped the tray into the sink and settled herself at the kitchen table. For a moment she rested her chin in her hand, suddenly lonely without Harry and the Weasleys. She glanced around at the empty room and came to the realization that this was what it was going to be like for the next seven days. Her, her books, and herself.

The first few days went by in routine. Just like Mrs. Weasley did, Hermione brought up a tray three times a day, twice with potions to help the healing process. There was enough food left to last a few days, but eventually Hermione had to cook. Malfoy didn't seem to notice a difference, or that everyone else had even left. He kept to himself, completely. Hermione even found herself straining to stay up to see if she heard him emerge at all. This tactic failed, as she fell asleep repeatedly.

She had received one letter from Ron, and everyone else, and went to respond to it immediately. So far everything was fine. They were doing whatever they needed to do, and she was not to worry. She went upstairs to her room, so she could reply to the letter, and again a tray caught her eye.

One that she had put out nearly four hours ago, it was untouched. She glanced curiously down the hall, wondering. Should could just leave it and see what happens in the morning. She could go and open the door…then again she thought he might curse her into oblivion for it. She put her hand on her own door where she stood and went to open it, and then looked down the hall for a third time. Maybe it wouldn't hurt if she just knocked on the door and then left again, he'd get the message.

Hermione walked down the hall quietly and put her ear to the door as she had a few days before. There wasn't a single sound coming from the room, but she tapped twice on the door, still listening for some movement. There was nothing. She sighed and picked up the tray, knocking again, just a bit louder. Still, there was no sound.

"Malfoy," she whispered with an eye roll, "you awake?" For a third time, there was no response. "Fine, then," she muttered, turning the doorknob, but it was locked.

He was unbelievable. It was as if he thought they all had it out for him. Then Hermione remembered, they pretty much all did. She jiggled the doorknob a few times and then reached into her pocket for her wand. Tapping the knob once, and thinking the 'alohomora' spell, she heard a click and stowed her wand away again.

She pushed the door open and looked around briefly; he was sleeping. She found a place on the bedside table for the tray quickly and turned to leave again. Glancing over her shoulder again, she looked at Malfoy again; to be sure he was still asleep. He evidently was, half sitting up, his head lolling over his left shoulder. Hermione creaked the door open again and took a step toward it.

"Checking up on me now, Granger?"

Hermione stopped; this was exactly what she didn't want to happen. She turned around awkwardly. Now that he was awake, it was really strange being alone in his presence. She was used to having at least two other people around.

"No…it got late, I didn't know if you were hungry." She glanced over at the tray she put down a few feet away. She thought he must be. She could tell even from where she was that he was bony.

"Right, I'm sure everyone's in a tizzy worrying about me." He coughed.

"Well then it's your lucky day, 'everyone's' not here. They all went to Diagon Alley for the week." Hermione crossed her arms.

Malfoy straightened up and pulled the tray off the table to him. "That's fine, I still don't need Mudblood help anyhow," he mumbled.

Hermione inhaled, very badly wanting to either retort, or jinx him, but did neither. Malfoy looked up at her, fork poised over the tray. "Can I help you with something else?" he asked sourly.

"No," Hermione said quietly, the word still ringing in her head. She hated it.

"By the way, that bloody cat of yours insists on clawing at my door every night-"

"I'll remember to thank Crookshanks later then!" she said, and turned again to walk out, slamming the door loudly behind her. It made everything within a reasonable distance rattle, and she could hear the portrait of Mrs. Black shrieking down the way.

"Oh, QUIET DOWN, woman!" Hermione hollered, before stamping back down to her and Ginny's room. "Idiot," she muttered to herself. She didn't cry, the word didn't make her cry anymore, but she wanted to. People were stupid to think that anything could change a Malfoy.

* * *

So the first two chapters came reasonably quickly, but three will probably be a few days at the least, so be patient. 

And this whole thing is very unlike 'Fall to Pieces.' Seeing as in FTP Draco & Hermione have some kind of past, but here, they don't, so it has to be very slow.

Please review! I respond to all questions if you have them!


	3. The Endurance and the Weakness

**SO I LIED!** sue me. I thought that chapter three would take longer to completely edit and get perfect, but I was wrong! Be happy!

_Sarah - _Thank you SO much for your kind comments. Yours suck out to me and that was the highest compliment I could receive, so thank you!

_Everyone else:_ Don't think I don't appreciate your comments too, I DO! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so far!

_Chapter Three_

_ The Endurance and the Weakness_

_So this is how it's going to be._ Malfoy thought to himself as he lay in bed early the next morning, the same scent was still radiating from the sheets. It was him alone in the house, with Granger down the hall. He couldn't lie to himself; he liked the alone time…mostly. Most of the day he spent sleeping. His injuries made him weak, so it wasn't as if he could get up and walk around much.

He didn't want to die. He had plans; he wanted to do things with his life. But he knew that it was a likely fate. His bones he knew would eventually mend, if after months. He wasn't worried about that. The healers who had come to what was left of the Malfoy Manor had warned him. One of his lungs was barely functioning. Apparently it could heal, but so far it had been getting better, and then worse again. One step forward, two steps back, when all the while every day he had coughing fits that felt like the skin on his chest was being torn. His heart had been punctured, but a simple potion daily helped most of the effects of that.

The sun started to come in through the closed blinds that he hadn't opened since his arrival. He would rather sulk in the dark and his own self-pity. There was a lot of that going on with him. With nobody to boss around, and nobody to boss him around, he wished he could resort to throwing things at the wall. But he didn't have the strength. The best he could do was using his wand to send various belongings around the room like a circus.

There was a hollow knock at the door. Malfoy rolled his eyes, knowing it could only be one person. He knew the door was locked and didn't feel like letting _her_ in.

"I know you're not asleep, I heard your things banging on the walls ten minutes ago." Her voice was clear through the wood. Malfoy sighed loudly and unlocked the door with his wand and she pushed it open.

"Thank you," Hermione said, looking around. "What is it a funeral in here?" she crossed the room to the window which was above the bedside table. It was littered with parchment and old books. She reached over it to open the curtains and let some light in.

Malfoy grabbed her wrist and gripped it tightly. Hermione was startled and let out a short gasp. "Don't touch them," he said quietly, but Hermione could hear the rasp in his chest. Looking down at him, she pulled her arm away and held it gently with her other hand, trying to ignore the pain.

"Fine." She narrowed her eyes, examining her arm, hoping it wouldn't bruise. "It's just the curtains, relax."

"And I would appreciate it if you didn't just waltz in here every four hours." Malfoy said, getting back into a comfortable position.

Hermione sighed, heading back toward the door. "I just thought that you-"

"I don't need you to take _care_ of me, Granger, all right? I'm perfectly capable of getting along without you coming in here, touching everything and leaving your filth everywhere," Malfoy said darkly.

"Everyone thinks of changing the world. But none think of changing himself," Hermione said quietly, her back turned on Malfoy. She didn't want to look at someone who was so outwardly evil.

"Is that even relevant?"

She shook her head and brought a hand to her face, it wasn't damp. Straightening up, she left and shut the door quietly behind her. Once again she was desperate to break down. But she had cried so much during the aftermath of the battle, there were no more tears left. Nothing could hurt her as much as loosing all those people had.

She often wondered why Fred had to die, while Draco Malfoy went on living. To her, it didn't seem exactly fair. Fred was a good person. She didn't know him extremely well, but he was kind of like a brother to her, most of the Weasley boys were. And Malfoy…he was, well, evil. At least in her opinion he was.

Maybe 'evil' was too strong of a term. He hadn't killed anyone as far as she was concerned. Apparently he didn't have the nerve, and Hermione wasn't surprised at this. Sure, he was a bully, but during his school years, and even during the battle, he had thugs backing him up.

Hermione shook her head once more in order to get the thoughts of Malfoy out of her head. They had a negative effect on her. The post had arrived for the morning, along with a letter from her parents. She had told them that she didn't know exactly when she would be home. They expected her back toward the end of the summer, and she quite agreed. Especially at this moment, home in the muggle world sounded better than sharing a house with Malfoy in the wizarding world.

She took the items from the owl and put some money in his pouch. He hooted softly in gratitude and flew out the window. Hermione followed the owl with her gaze as he flew away. Wondering vaguely where he was going. Probably the wizard post office or something similar, to be ready for the next delivery.

After Hermione and Malfoy's most recent confrontation, Hermione didn't return to knock on the door. She resumed the old habit of just leaving out a tray of food and collecting it later in the day. It seemed easier to her. Lonelier, but easier. Since she was alone, those two instances seemed an odd comfort; at least it was human contact. The closest contact she received was from owls, Crookshanks, and the letters she received. Including one that came two days later, from everyone in Diagon Alley.

Hermione,

We've got some bad news. We ran into some former Death Eaters while we were hear and had to take care of them. I can't explain much more, but we're extending out stay for another week. There's nothing we can do.

Wish you were here, we need your brains. Everyone says not to worry, and we'll be home next Wednesday. Just ten more days and we'll be back.

See you soon,

Ron, Harry

& everyone else.

P.S. Mum wanted me to ask you to do some laundry, something about changing the bed sheets. She thought it might give you something to do.

Hermione groaned at the letter. She didn't feel like living this same way for a whole extra week. One was enough. But, she couldn't exactly do much about it. She just hope that everyone was doing all right and something good would happen to allow them to come home early. She missed Ron. Maybe a little less than when he originally left, but she still missed him. She hoped that he missed her too, and maybe he just didn't want to write it.

That night at dinner, Hermione sat at the kitchen table, as she normally did. It seemed worse though. The letter was daunting and made the entire house seem colder, danker, and she felt more alone than ever. It hadn't even been one full week, and already she had to worry about a whole second week piled on top of that. Then there was Malfoy. Although absent from the main house, he lingered upstairs and in Hermione's thoughts. Perhaps it was because he was the only one around. What else was she supposed to do? It wasn't as if she had schoolwork to keep her busy.

She wondered where his injuries had come from. He didn't seem too hurt the last time she had seen him, briefly in the Great Hall after the battle. She often thought about asking him, but then remembered how he'd spoken to her with such spite, such malice. It was as like she was what had caused his injuries and he was taking his boredom and anger out on her. She hated him for that. Then, she would wake up in the middle of the night to his coughing. She almost felt bad. It was ten minutes every hour or two of what sounded like significant pain. She finally understood why he slept so much during the day. He had seemed peaceful when she walked in on him sleeping. She couldn't blame him, in his position anything was probably better than reality.

The silence in the house was killing Hermione. She slid back her chair and carried her food upstairs. On a complete whim, she settled down against the wall next to Malfoy's room. She had just brought his food up and could hear the metal clanking from across the threshold. At least she could make it sound like she wasn't completely alone.

Hermione was so caught up in her thoughts, and pushing her food around on her plate, she didn't here the clinking stop, and the shuffling of items in the bedroom. The door creaked open and she jumped, looking back.

"Why the hell are you sitting outside my door?" Malfoy said, partly fatigued, partly annoyed. He was leaning on a crutch under his broken arm, with his empty tray in his other hand.

"I…I was just…" Hermione thought for a moment. She didn't exactly know herself. Saying 'I was lonely' would be stupid. "I got a letter today, from Ron." Then she added quickly, "And everyone else."

She stood up and took the tray from him and placed it under her plate. It was then she realised how short she felt next to him. He towered over her a considerable amount, forcing her to tilt her head up slightly to speak to him

"This concerns me how?" He leaned against the doorframe gingerly, to take the pressure off his leg.

"Something came up, and they're going to be gone another week." She looked down at the floor, knowing what was coming. It would be some snide remark about having to spend more time with a Mudblood.

Malfoy just sighed, an exhausted sort of sigh, and readjusted his positioning in the doorframe. "All right," he said tightly, trying to restrain himself from saying something rude. It was a new tactic for him, and it was difficult, but he didn't feel like arguing at this point, he was tired.

Hermione looked up, surprise evident in her face. She went on to the next order of business. "And Mrs. Weasley asked me to do some laundry, I have to change all the bedding." She crouched down and set the plates on the floor once again and stood up.

Malfoy had moved out of the way, as if to let her in to do whatever she needed to do. He leaned against the wall as she stripped down the bed and tossed it into a pile in the middle of the floor.

"Leo Tolstoy." He said out loud after a number of minutes.

Hermione turned around, a pillowcase rumpled up in her hands. "Huh?"

"The other day, you said something before you left, Leo Tolstoy said it."

"How'd you know that?" Hermione was impressed. "Tolstoy was a muggle." She threw the pillowcase down into the pile on the floor and picked everything up, leaving it in the hall. Had she actually found someone who was on the same intellect level as her?

"Tolstoy had an affair with a witch." Malfoy said matter-of-factly. "That titbit is left out of history, except in the magical text books." He smirked, aware that he had out-smarted her in something.

"Really?" Hermione's voice was muffled as she searched in the hall linen closet for clean sheets. "I never knew that," she said returning.

"I can't do much lately; I read a lot." Malfoy could smell that familiar jasmine scent, it was still mixed with an unknown fruit, as Hermione walked by with the clean bedding.

She made up the bed quickly and went out into the hall, putting the dirty sheets in a basket and the plates from a few minutes before on top of it. She picked up the basket and stood outside the door as Malfoy moved back to behind the door, getting ready to close it again.

"Each forward step we take we leave some phantom of ourselves behind." Malfoy said to her, before she walked away.

Hermione shrugged and shook her head, not ever have hearing the quote before. She thought she saw his eyes flash with something…something a little lighter. She thought it may have been relief, but she was too far away to tell.

Malfoy smirked, "Silly Mudblood." And he shut the door.

The word stung Hermione at first. But she forgot about it, remembering. She knew that Malfoy did well in his classes at Hogwarts, but she just assumed it was because he was close with the Professors. Maybe she had been wrong and he actually was intelligent. She made a mental note to look up what he said. Then she remembered. It was the fourth time that he had made a reference to her being beneath him. He didn't deserve her praise.

Malfoy couldn't sleep that night. He couldn't get comfortable. He thought it must be the sheets. They weren't worn in, they were too stiff. Then he realised what else was missing: the smell. He couldn't find the familiar clean scent he had grown accustomed to. He was sure that it was there when Granger walked put them on the bed, but suddenly it was as if it had disappeared completely. He re-adjusted again slowly for the umpteenth time, but it did nothing.

* * *

So the last paragraph isn't much, but it's pretty important, if you haven't already figured it out. 

Four will honestly take me a few days, I really mean it this time.

I'd love the reviews!

xx: Euria.


	4. A Series of Unexpected Events

**JKR OWNS.**

**Flo is back from California, and I missed her dearly **

Thank you everyone for your reviews, favourites, subscriptions, alerts, etc. I appreciate everything!

Now, chapter four is a bit longer, and I really enjoyed writing it. **  
**

_Chapter Four_

_A Series of Unexpected Events_

Sometimes the hardest thing,

And the right are the same.

Maybe you want her,

Maybe you need her,

Maybe you started to compare.

The Fray – All At Once

The tension had lifted somewhat. Hermione had found it easier to be alone as the hours passed into the next evening. There was some comfort about the fact that there was actually someone upstairs. Whether or not he could be considered a human being, was still in debate.

Hermione was still confused about the previous evening. On one hand, she almost felt excited that she might actually have someone to talk with. Then, a second later, he was the same old Malfoy, cold, hurtful, and enjoying it. He knew the quote she had mentioned, nobody she knew could actually come up with it before. Granted, he may have had time to look it up. She had known he was a top student, but she had never realised that he was actually, _intelligent_. And now she couldn't help thinking that he was maybe something more to him in that area.

In less than a week Malfoy had successfully insulted her three times. Well, four. But the last time she didn't know how much he had meant it. The evil shine from his eye disappeared and was temporary replaced by 'the smirk'. Not once, had Hermione actually seen Draco Malfoy crack a smile. Except for the times he was causing hurt to someone else. But it never could have actually been considered a smile. She supposed he took after his father in that respect.

Still, Hermione had just as much pride in being muggle-born as Malfoy did in being a pureblood. She almost wished there was a dirty word she could call him. 'Pompous, arrogant, git' didn't seem sufficient enough in her mind. And Hermione knew if something weren't right in her mind, it wouldn't work in real life.

She went up the stairs rather quickly that night, tray in hand to deliver it. She was feeling oddly happy, for someone being alone most of the time. She seemed to have slept fine the night before and another letter from her parents had arrived in the afternoon. Arriving at Malfoy's doorway with a hop in her step, she knocked a few times.

"It's open." Came a muffled voice from behind the wooden door. Hermione glanced down at the doorknob, a little confused. This was new…she turned the handle and pushed the door open.

"So it is," she commented unnecessarily. A pillow covered Malfoy's face, and he didn't move when Hermione opened the door. She stood in the doorway for a moment. "Is that an invite in? Or do I have to fill out paperwork?" she joked, attempting to fill the void and hate between them. A muffled sound came from the pillow that she couldn't quite make out, but it sounded affirmative. Hermione stepped into the room and stood at the foot of the bed that was pushed against the wall.

"Hungry?" Hermione's voice was quiet, nervous.

Malfoy shifted under the pillow and pushed himself up, tossing the pillow aside. "I could eat." In reality, his stomach was aching with hunger.

Hermione handed over the tray and turned to leave, as she normally did. They didn't really talk much. Except for these occasional conversations. Lately she had been personally delivering meals and potions rather than leaving them on the floor. She was halfway to the door and she stopped.

"Hey, Granger?"

Hermione turned around casually. "Hmm?"

"Why are you being nice to me?" The words sounded strange coming from his mouth. He never had to ask anyone that before.

Hermione looked at him, studying him for a moment. He was midway to his mouth with his fork, just sitting there in the bed. Her mouth became very dry. It wasn't until now that she realized how damaged he was, not just physically, but she could hear it in his voice. _Stop, Hermione_. _He got himself into the mess._ She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs. She then shrugged and looked down. "I guess…well I suppose because it's the right thing to do."

Malfoy gave her a strange look. "Do you _always_ do the right thing?" She didn't answer. But she felt her cheeks redden. Doing the right thing was usually her specialty. It was the complete opposite of following rules, especially because more recently she had complete disregard for the rules.

"I tend to," she said slowly.

"Must be hard being nice to someone like me." He didn't know what was going on with him. Again, words completely foreign to his tongue. Malfoy knew he had done bad things. Some of it he enjoyed. Other parts…he had been literally forced into. Some things he almost felt regret for…almost. He only wanted to live up to his family name. And that, unfortunately, wasn't always a good name to the rest of the world.

Hermione felt awkward. This wasn't the Draco Malfoy she knew. It was too odd speaking to him civilly. She was desperate for a reason to yell at him and run out. "Sometimes it doesn't matter whether something is difficult. Sometimes it just has to be done."

Malfoy shook her head; similar to the way she had moments before. He mumbled something incoherent, and then something that clearly was, "Mudbloods," and resumed eating. He just expected her to just leave, as she always did. Which was what made him surprised when she stomped over, pulled a pillow out from behind him and hit him over the head, causing him to hit a tooth with the fork.

"What the hell was that for?" Malfoy dropped his fork and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, and examined the tooth with another. Had she gotten even more insane lately?

"That, Draco Malfoy, was for continuing to degrade me and put me beneath you!" Hermione had had enough. She hit him again. _He's back. Same old Malfoy._

"Hey!"

"And _that_ is because it thought it would be funnier the second time, and I was right." She sighed, tossing the pillow down at his feet.

Malfoy glared at her. Hermione just laughed at him, a melodious ripple of laughter. His hair was dishevelled, and the look on his face was too funny to pass up.

"I don't see what's funny." Malfoy said through his teeth.

"I'm _sorry_. But you just don't quit trying to put others below you. It's no wonder we all hate you." She stopped laughing, but a small smile was still held on her lips. "It's just…" she sank down on the side of the bed. Another moment of thought passed. There must have been something in the air, because she wasn't acting much like herself either. "I'm just really _tired_. Of all…this." She gestured around the room, and at Malfoy and herself. "You and I – well, no, not that…"

"Granger, I'm hungry, and I barely slept. Is there a point somewhere?"

She shook her head, defeated. "Never mind," she mumbled. "It's not important." She sighed again and went to the door. "Just nine more days," she said as she left, "and you wont have to deal with me anymore."

Malfoy considered this as she left. Nine days? Had it those first few days really already gone by? And would she really stop coming into his room unannounced when other people were around? _Surely_. She couldn't have her precious Weasley knowing that she was actually three feet away from him. Three feet away…she sat on his bed and he didn't hex her off. _His_ bed. Normally that would have been exactly what he would have done. He shook it off, suddenly not feeling very hungry. He assumed that it was lack of sleep that made him act so strangely. Setting the tray out of the way, he sunk back down into the bed, taking the stray pillow with him and placing it under his head. The faintest trace of jasmine and the mystery fruit helped him sleep that night.

* * *

Hermione was more frustrated than ever the next morning. She didn't know what had gotten into her the night before that made her act so…_odd_. Granted, she was thankful she did get to hit Malfoy and yell at him. That was unsurprisingly satisfying. She couldn't lay her finger on what she was going to say, but she was very glad she didn't. Whatever she could have said would probably have made her feeling even more embarrassed and strange. Being around Malfoy did that to her. Especially when he _wasn't_ giving her evil stares or insulting her. He was an odd character. She wondered if those injuries had leaked into his head at all. Maybe that was the reason for his odd questioning and strange comments. _That_ made more sense than the faint thought that he was actually not to be a jerk. That thought was one of those things that didn't make sense in her head. 

She put the knife in her hand aside as she slipped a generous amount of chopped vegetables into a wooden bowl. In the kitchen, making lunch, as usual. She had just lifted the knife up again when she heard a creak behind her. She turned around quickly and nearly jumped out of her skin, causing her to drop the knife and create a large gash down her left hand.

"Ah!" she closed her hand into a fist. Blood was flowing freely and she reached for a cloth nearby. Malfoy had been at the bottom of the stairs. The cast was missing from his leg, but the sheer sight of him anywhere else but his room shocked her. She looked back over her shoulder, "Malfoy!" He seemed just as shocked that she had just sliced her hand open. She

"I didn't-" He didn't know what he was supposed to say. Here he was, responsible that she just cut her hand open. _Great_. _Another blemish on the record. _Suddenly he was worried about doing bad things? A year ago he would have been rejoicing that he was at fault for this. Maybe he hadn't slept as much as he thought.

"No, I just didn't expect you to…your leg…" she spoke with jumbled words as she attempted to wrap her wound one-handed.

Malfoy came over to her in a few strides. "My leg was healed when I woke up this morning. I guess all those potions worked." He laughed dryly. He looked at Hermione. She looked a bit perplexed, and as if something was on her mind. Then he realised how stupid he was, looking at her cut hand. _Of course she's distracted._

"May I?" He gestured to her hand with his one good hand and one broken arm, which apparently still had a working hand. Hermione eyed him suspiciously, but held out her hand. This was yet another side of Malfoy that she hadn't seen. She _knew_ that if this had happened a year earlier he would just laugh and ignore her.

Malfoy removed the now bloody cloth and dipped a clean edge in a nearby pot of boiling water that Hermione had been using. She winced when she saw him dip it, knowing it might sting. He took her hand in his palm carefully. Hermione made another mental note to herself, a third thing she didn't know about him. She watched him examine her wound as he cleaned it. She was beginning to see the Death Eater fade and reveal the eighteen-year-old boy. And the boy happened to be more like her than she originally thought.

"Well," he said after a moment, "It's deep. It'll take a little time to heal…assuming you don't want me to just use magic and…" Hermione shook her head.

"I'll be okay." She didn't quite know what made her refuse magic help.

Malfoy rummaged around in the nearby cupboard for a clean cloth, not once removing his hand from her wounded one. Hermione felt a bit dizzy, and there was a heat rising slowly. Was it that hot in the kitchen? She figured it was the loss of blood. Then she remembered she hadn't lost that much blood at all.

"You sure did a number on yourself, Granger." Malfoy said distractedly as he wrapped her hand tightly in the cloth. Once, twice, three times, four.

Hermione looked up at him, seeing him in the daylight for the first time. "Looks like I did," she said quietly.

"Yeah, well, muggle-borns tend to freak out when wizards appear out of nowhere." The smirk returned.

Hermione smiled slightly. "Ha, ha." It was then she noticed he hadn't let go of her hand. She slid it out of his grasp slowly, the immediate pain subsiding. Suddenly feeling even more awkward than ever. Never once in her years at school did she ever thing that one day she would slice her hand open and Draco Malfoy would be at her rescue.

Malfoy coughed and stepped back firmly. Hermione moved a stray wisp of hair from her face that had fallen in the chaos. "Thanks," she mumbled, glancing down before looking up to meet his stare. She noticed the lines in his forehead. Worry lines, she had heard them called. She assumed he had a lot to worry about. He shrugged.

"I guess I had to help you," he said, as if it were an obligation. "You make my food." He looked at her smugly.

Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling completely normal again. There was the Death Eater she knew. She turned back to the food. "Well, I suppose because you're up you just want to eat down here?" she said as she attempted to wield the knife again.

"Sure." It was a 'sure' that didn't really mean much. It didn't sound like it actually mattered. He took a seat at the table anyway. The last few minutes had happened so fast, he almost didn't realise what he was doing. _Helping_ Granger. She was hurt and he felt like he was the one who was supposed to do something. It was another new tactic, and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

He did however find himself watching her in confusion as she moved about the kitchen. Something about her confused him. He didn't know what it was. But the fact that she was the only one who was proud, but not too proud to talk to him was interesting. Intriguing.

Hermione came over a few minutes later with two plates filled with food. She put one down in front of Malfoy and sat on the next side of the table. Something had been on her mind for the entire day. Well, the entire time he was here really. She took a few bites of her food and tucked one knee up onto the chair.

"Hey Malfoy?" She echoed the tone he used the night before.

He looked up from his plate. Both had been eating in silence for a few minutes. Both couldn't fathom the idea that they were sharing a meal, just the two of them.

"How did you get hurt?" Hermione had hesitated asking. Things were peaceful. The last thing she needed was to get into another brawl.

"What?" Malfoy knew exactly what she wanted to know, but he didn't exactly want to answer.

"Your injuries…how…how'd they happen?" She looked down at her plate. Now fully regretting it.

"Sure know how to ruin an appetite don't you?" He put down his fork on his plate, visibly getting upset.

Hermione sighed. "It was just a question, you don't have to answer."

"That, Granger, is where you're wrong. I _do_ have to answer now. If I don't I'm sure you'll just pester me about it more." That glint of hate was back in his eye.

She stopped eating as well. "So?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "It's all very complicated." He really didn't want to discuss it. He hoped that would stop her.

"Your father didn't…" Hermione began.

"Don't," Malfoy snapped, "bring him up."

Hermione was silenced again. She should have known that his father would be a sore subject. She was fairly sure he was the one who had gotten him into all the messes he had been in when they had run into him. Whatever had made her act strangely last night must have been what was causing her to ask stupid questions.

"When we were at your house…" Hermione pressed on. She just _had_ to know. And honestly, she had a strange feeling he wouldn't push her away again.

"Listen, I know a lot of bad people. Hell, I'm one of those bad people." He had leaned onto his elbows now, resting them on the table. Hermione glanced up at him again, meeting that same gaze. It had softened somewhat, and it penetrated her strangely. "There were a lot of times last year that I just couldn't get out of bad situations. And I know you think I'm an evil person who just followed the family tradition but…there's more to it than you understand."

Hermione let him go on, she wanted to understand. Malfoy sighed and continued. "You know the 'condition' people have been talking about, with my heart and lungs?" Hermione nodded, pushing away her plate. "_I_ have no idea where it came from. All I know is that it's the cause of everything else. The broken bones, the concussion…and I also know…" he hadn't actually said this part out loud. For a moment he wondered why he was now. "I know that there is a very good chance I will die. And sooner rather than later most likely."

Malfoy looked at Hermione expectantly. He needed her to respond. Sitting in silence was hard, and second by second it got worse and worse.

She just sighed. "Oh…" she looked away again, this time over her shoulder. Why was this so painful? She didn't even _like_ Malfoy. Death all in all made her upset…but she always considered Malfoy someone she wouldn't mourn. Now, she wasn't so sure. "I'm sorry," she said quietly after a long period of silence.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair for a moment. "Yeah, me too. But we all go eventually, right?" He tried to make light of the idea of dying.

"Do you really think that though…I mean that you'll die?" Hermione looked back at him, feeling as if she was treading on broken glass, pushing the subject along.

Malfoy just shrugged indifferently. He was getting cold again, Hermione could see it in his face. Her first question wasn't really answered, but before she could ask again, he was heading back up the stairs with a moody stomp.

Hermione smiled. She knew that he would still be upset that she brought it up. But she wasn't worried. She watched him leave and go back upstairs. Always going, but always leaving a shadow of him behind. What a strange afternoon. She could remember things now…his hand was warm, when she had expected it to be cold and unfeeling. But he was still unreadable. He never let what he was feeling show. Compartmentalizing must have been a skill he needed to be a Death Eater. Who would want a follower who showed guilt and remorse all the time?

Still, something had changed.

* * *

A/N: I need honest opinions. Too fluffy? I was worried it might be. So let me know if you think it is.

Please Please Please review! I really rely on your feedback, and I don't like to write until I get some, so I know I'm going in a good direction!


	5. Cause & Effect

**JRK OWNS. **

I wasn't planning on updating today, but I'm feeling a bit ill, and I was home, so I just knocked out the last bit of the chapter! **  
**Thank you for all your reviews on chapter four. I know it's been a good few weeks since the last update, but school started, and I've got a handful of honors classes, and lots of homework. But that's nothing compared to Flo with her AP classes.

Anyways, Malfoy is meant to be a bit of an enigma in this. Partially because we were left not knowing much about him in DH, and partially because he's confusing even to himself. So, **Allison**, I have to agree, he is a bit puzzling! **  
**

_Chapter Five_

_Cause & Effect_

There's something sweet, and almost kind.

But he was rough and he was coarse, and unrefined.

But now he's dear, and so unsure,

I wonder why I didn't see it there before.

- Something There from Beauty and the Beast

Sleeping wasn't an option that evening. Both Hermione and Malfoy's heads were both spinning. A strange, falling feeling that made them both light headed, thought neither knew it about the other. While Hermione wished she were Malfoy, who was probably falling into a deep sleep, Malfoy tossed and turned just as restlessly, wishing his head could be filled with the sweet dreams hers was.

Hermione's brain was a sticky mess, and her hand ached in pain. She _hated _Malfoy. She had ever since they met. Why was it becoming so easy to talk to him? He was always a rude, arrogant ass to her and her friends. But then there was the way that lately he was weak, and gentle. _No, not gentle…just smart. He knew how to bandage my hand._ He _helped_ her. And he said muggle-born. Muggle-born. The world reverberated in Hermione's mind as if it was unfamiliar. Well, coming from him it was. It was always Mudblood that he used toward her, and other like her. She couldn't help noticing him in the daylight. Every time she had walked into his room, it was dark, curtains drawn, and there was a mere shadow of his face. But she saw him, and it made her even more uncomfortable. Before, if she couldn't see him, she figured he couldn't see her. And him being able to see her made her feel vulnerable.

She didn't know what to make of their situation. Getting comfortable with it was the last thing on her mind. He was, Malfoy, after all. A Death Eater, or former death eater; vile, cruel, and as unfeeling as she ever knew. And yet, she couldn't get her mind off of that feeling she got.

Rolling over again to try and get comfortable, Hermione tried to convince herself that she was being stupid. "There is nothing going on," she said into the darkness. Over and over again she repeated it in her head until she would believe it. The entire two weeks was just a chore, she was doing the Weasleys a favor while they were away. And they would be back in a few days time, and it would be all over, no harm done.

Down the hall Malfoy silently resisted the urge to hit the wall next to him for the sixth time that evening. It wasn't as if he could do it, seeing as his arm was still broken, and he didn't have the energy. He was just utterly perturbed at not being able to fall asleep. The entire evening had been awkward from the second he stepped down the stairs, and for some reason his brain kept pressing the replay button. Stopping especially at the part where he _helped _her. Granger. The inferior-best-friend-to-Potter, girlfriend-to-the-blood-traitor, Granger. And what was with the interrogation? He knew she didn't care that much about how he got injured. He may not be as smart as her, well actually he probably was, but he knew enough. She was probably spying on behalf of everyone else, trying to get information on what he was doing, other death eaters. He was just thankful that it was his left arm that was broken. _Yes_, thankful.

Any way the situation was spun, he didn't help him sleep. He was up and down all night. _Maybe the right side…nope, not working_. _Turn on the light?_ That would have been ridiculous. Then he realized he had barely touched his dinner. He was too caught up with the questions and trying not to answer them that he practically forgot to eat. So _that_ was that gnawing him his stomach he'd been feeling. Mystery solved.

Hermione woke with the sun the next morning. She had finally dozed off a little after one, but the light in her window woke up her up and she knew there was no way out of it. Now, she was propped up in bed, still halfway under the covers with a book in her lap when there was a light knock at the door. She looked up just as it creaked open.

Malfoy's blond head popped in through the crack in the door. "I figured you hadn't slept either, seeing as you were practically sleep-talking." He looked around, he had never seen the inside of her make-shift room. It was tidy, but very Hermione Granger-esque. There was a decent sized bookshelf filled as far as it could go, and then some. As well as quills, ink, parchment, and old newspapers scattered on the desk. Each paper looked as if it had been merely opened to the front cover and tossed aside.

"Was not," Hermione huffed, closing her book. She remembered saying a few stupid things out loud, but it couldn't have been loud enough for him to hear.

"Of course not," Malfoy said dramatically, stepping into the room. He looked as if he had been up for hours and was already dressed. Even though it was barely 6 AM. "I forgot that top students don't sleep talk."

Wait, did he just admit to her being a top student…? Must have been a fluke, the lack of sleep. Hermione slid out from the blankets and onto the floor.

"Something you needed?" Hermione asked, as she pulled up the sheets and blanket semi-neatly. She couldn't imagine him coming in _her_ room without a good reason; it would be very un…Malfoy.

"Uh, yeah-well no." Malfoy looked around again, not really knowing himself what he was doing. He was used to seeing Hermione in muggle clothes, but this early in the morning was just strange. And her cotton pajamas wouldn't exactly stop _Avada Kedavra_. "How's the hand?"

Hermione looked down at her wrapped hand and tried to flex it a bit. "It's all right." She couldn't move it much, so she was glad it was her left hand.

Malfoy beckoned her over with a hand. She rolled her eyes and walked over, unwrapping her hand in the process.

"It stopped bleeding sometime in the middle of the night," Hermione mumbled as Malfoy took her hand and looked at it again.

"Congratulations, I think you'll live," Malfoy said distractedly as he leaned against the doorframe while Hermione messily re-wrapped her hand. There was a pause in the conversation. Talking would probably make the situation even more awkward.

"Should you really be up and out of bed? I mean, your leg's healed but-" Hermione began as she stretched her hand once more.

"You know Granger, if you wanted me to go all you had to do was say the word." Truth: several ribs were still broken, his concussion was still present and his heart and arm were still in bad shape, but so what?

Hermione shook her head; she hadn't meant to cause a problem. "I didn't-" She couldn't get a word in, Malfoy turned around silently and left, closing the door gently behind him.

He leaned against the door outside Hermione's bedroom for a moment, trying to catch his breath. His lungs had been fine the last few days, but as she re-approached his own bedroom a few feet away, he found he was struggling to breathe. He guessed he had a month and a half at best. Normal wounds aren't supposed to get better and worse, and then better and worse again.

Hermione fixed the pillows at the head of the bed and then stared at the closed door for a moment unable to pull her brain from thought. What…was that? The coming into her room, compliments, and the abrupt exit? It was early in the morning, even she was groggy. What he said wasn't a compliment, and she was used to Malfoy being rude It must have been a trick of the light…the sunrise was quite pink. But, nothing he did lately was living up to her expectations of him. He had succeeded to anger her just as much as usual, but something was off. Even though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Hermione jumped as a loud tap sounded from behind her. She whipped around to the window and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of an owl. She opened the window and pulled the articles from the owl.

The paper, which she unfolded and glanced over the front page quickly for any big news: deaths, murders, dark lords on the rise etc, was cast aside with the others on her desk eventually. A letter was left, and she knew Ron's messily scrawled writing immediately. She smiled to herself and unfolded the parchment.

_Hermione, _

_I'm sorry this trip had to be extended. We're really busy. It's late, but this was the only time I would get a chance to write to you. _

_I'm so used to seeing you every day, I can't even tell you how strange it is to be away._

_How are you?_

There was a line crossed out several times, until it was barely legible. Hermione guessed it had been a few words long, but skipped over it.

_George is looking in on the shop. Business is doing better than it has been. Harry and Ginny are fine, though they spend an awful lot of time "strategizing" in either of their rooms._

_I tell you, my parents are completely daft sometimes. They're doing okay too._

Another line, which was very similar to the one before was scratched out.

_I hope you're okay with the whole Malfoy situation. I can't imagine what it must be like. Pretty quiet in the house? _

_You like quiet though don't you? I know you like quiet when you read._

_It really is late, though. I'll send this now so you'll have it tomorrow. _

_Good Morning. _

_Ron _

Hermione smiled again when she reached the end of the letter. It was short and sweet, just like it's author. Ron was never one for romance and the like. He didn't know how to act in that area. But she liked him for that. There was never any pressure. They were both as clumsy as the other.

Her smile faded a bit as she re-read the letter. There was something that she had been hoping for. It wasn't in the body of the letter. And she was disappointed. She put the letter down on the desk, figuring that she would respond later, after she ate. Her stomach was growling loudly. And then she saw it. A small spot caught her eye down in the bottom right hand corner of the letter, completely opposite from the rest. She smiled, then. In the corner was written, "I miss you." And under it, "A lot."

A full grin was visible on Hermione's face, to no one but her bedroom furniture. She looked out to the rising sun and sighed, suddenly remembering. She remembered everything. Why could five simple words hold so much power? Why was it that just the simple recognition from Ron could change her day? It never had before. She thought of the old saying "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." And she finally believed it. She sighed once more, as she sat down at her desk and cleared it off, as she found a quill. Breakfast could wait.

* * *

That evening, Hermione skipped up the stairs two at a time and landed with a knock at Malfoy's door. He hadn't come out at all. He seemed okay in the morning, but after he left her room she hadn't heard from him, seen him at all. Silence greeted her knock and she put an ear to the door as she had many times before. She couldn't hear much of anything at all, and decided to let herself in. 

She crossed over to the side of the bed and put Malfoy's food on the bedside table. As soon as Hermione saw him her heart seemed to stop. He had been fine, but now he was tangled in his sheets, in a cold sweat, and she could tell his breathing was ragged and shallow. Her first thought was to panic, and holler for someone downstairs. Her second was that she was alone; nobody else was there. Suddenly this was _her_ responsibility. Of course, he didn't _seem_ to be in a horrible place. He was having trouble breathing, but he didn't look too ill. Surely she could just leave him, and he would be fine?

Hermione shook her head, knowing she had stay and see what was wrong.

Malfoy's words pierced her brain, _"Do you _always_ do the right thing?" _

"_I tend to."_

Another shake of her head brought her back into the moment. This moment, where Draco Malfoy lay before her, with something obviously wrong. She noticed now that he was laying on his left side, which couldn't be good for his arm. This took precedence over everything else at the moment. She thought for a moment of the best way to re-adjust him with the least amount of contact as possible. Magic hit her in the head right away, but she had left her wand in the front room earlier, and didn't want to risk going back down to get it.

Almost reluctantly, she attempted with trembling hands to lift Malfoy's left side by means of his waist. Her own left hand ached in pain at the pressure. She knew that it was probably hurting his ribs, which were still heavily bandaged under his clothes, but he didn't stir at all, and she knew by her struggling that he was out cold. Probably dreaming of something, or better yet, nothing. After several minutes of trying to move his weight, Hermione had successfully transferred Malfoy onto his back, relieving whatever pressure may have been on his broken arm.

His breathing hadn't eased up, and she didn't know what she was supposed to do. Why did things like this always happen to her? What possessed the world to have _her_ be the one to take care of Draco, -Malfoy, for two weeks? Draco. His first name sounded strange in her head. She didn't dare say it. But she thought it, looking down at his sleeping form. Her heart panged, and she desperately wanted to understand what had happened to him.

A loud sleepy cough emerged from Malfoy, who didn't even wake, just coughed. It made Hermione jump and her own heart race momentarily. When she knew that he was settled again, she straightened the sheets around him, feeling quite like a mother watching over her child. Impulse made her distractedly push the matted hair off of his forehead. The clarity forced her to retract it immediately, realizing what she was actually doing. She took her left hand and absently ran a finger over the bandage where a three-inch cut lay beneath.

Hermione looked at the tray off food on the bedside table, having a feeling that it wouldn't even get eaten. All there was do to now was wait. Wait for him to wake, or to not wake. The sun was setting, and Hermione wasn't tired. She felt as if the lack of sleep gave her even more energy than she could handle. She turned and slid down the side of the bed, resting against it. It wouldn't be right to leave. If something happened, it was on her shoulders. She was sure Harry and Ron wouldn't mind, but causing the loss of a human life would be too much for her to handle.

The second tap she had heard that day sounded at Malfoy's bedroom window not long after she had gotten comfortable. Groaning, she stood up and took what was the night edition of the Prophet from the owl. She dug into her pocket for a coin and put it in the attached bag before sending the owl away again.

She settled down where she had been a few moments before and sat crossed-legged. With the paper opened in her lap, Hermione gasped quietly and checked to make sure Malfoy was still asleep as she read the large headline, and the following article.

"_**Famed Death Eater Dead in Prison, His Wife Dead of 'a Broken Heart' "  
**_

* * *

I love getting your reviews! Chapter six is started and I've planned out through chapter eight or nine. It may be another few weeks before I get to update because of school, and right now my Mother is allowing about an hour a night on school nights, and between checking my e-mail and homework, it doesn't allow for much! So sit tight, and please please review! 

Euria


	6. The Magic in the Storm Pt 1

_JKR OWNS. _

So, it's been a really really long time since I've updated...yes. I just had to tie this chapter off, and now I have. But there is a second part to it which is written and just has to be typed and fleshed a little bit more. So enjoy this and have a good holiday!_  
_

_Chapter Six_

_The Magic in The Storm _

_Part I_

He shares my blood

He holds my soul

Will he ever know,

Ever know,

He's cutting his own skin.

Joss Stone – Holding Out For A Hero

Hermione did a double take at the paper in front of her. And then she closed her eyes and opened them again. She used all tactics she could think of to erase the facts from in front of her. It wasn't as if she_cared_ exactly. But she felt bad. Bits and pieces of the article stuck out at her, like whips against her thoughts.

Almost by fate, Malfoy stirred behind her. She turned around to see him lifting up onto his good elbow to meet her eye level.

"All right?" Hermione asked. For a moment she thought she was genuinely concerned.

"What are you doing in here?"

She smiled at Malfoy sadly, remembering what lay in her lap. "You didn't seem well. I didn't want to be responsible if…well…"

"If I died?" Malfoy said, quite casually, as if it wasn't a big deal. It almost wasn't to him. He knew it would happen eventually, why delay the process with pain. He sometimes fell asleep hoping he would die, so he wouldn't have to bear the pain.

Hermione nodded, looking down, away from his eyes. They were livelier than he was, but she wished she didn't have to be the one to tell him what she knew.

"What d'you got there?" He asked, glancing over her shoulder to the paper.

"Um…night edition. It just came a few minutes ago." She folded the paper for a moment.

"Anything good?"

She sighed and looked down briefly. "Afraid not." She unfolded the paper and smoothed it out in front of him.

Malfoy's eyes scanned the article quickly. She barely saw him flinch. Nothing seemed to faze him. Hermione could tell that he wasn't reading fully, just looking for important bits.

"I didn't actually read it," Hermione said quietly, "But I'm really, really sorry." She didn't think she was _that_ sorry. But a death was a death. It wasn't a happy event either way. And this was two.

Malfoy cleared his throat briefly and returned his eyes to the beginning of the article and began to read aloud. "Returning to the Prophet, more sensational than ever, Rita Skeeter Reports: Lucius Malfoy, known Death Eater, 44 was found dead in his prison cell this afternoon. The cause was quite unknown…." Malfoy skipped down a bit. "Later today, after hearing the news of her husband's death, Narcissa Black Malfoy, 42, was also found dead in her Wiltshire home. Healers report that 'Mrs. Malfoy had no visible signs of attack, and nobody in the house could have used an unforgivable curse on her. After examining her, it seems as if she passed because of a broken heart.' " Malfoy sighed, and carelessly tossed the now folded paper down to the foot of his bed.

"That's it?" Hermione asked, extremely perplexed.

"What do you mean, 'that's it'? They're _dead_, Granger. Dead."

Hermione turned around to kneel next to the bed, so she was level with Malfoy's face. "But you aren't…well what I mean is that…"

"Sad? You're wondering if I'm sad," Malfoy said incredulously. "You're actually wondering if I'm sad. What happened to that top student I was just talking to this morning?"

"They're your parents, Malfoy!"

"They're not!" He said loudly, but hoarsely. The tone of his voice made Hermione drop and sit back on the heels of her feet. Malfoy pushed himself further on his elbow. "You may be all lovey-dovey and happy with your folks, Granger, but my father was a murderer. And no matter what you _may_ think about me, I'm not proud of that fact."

She had almost hoped to see a glimmer of some kind of emotion from him. But there was nothing there.

He looked at her, and his expression softened. Hermione had become even a bit scared for a moment before that. "Mum was okay." Malfoy smiled grimly. "She wasn't half as bad as dear old dad. But she was also weak."

Hermione glanced down in her lap. She couldn't imagine feeling that way about anyone. She had only known good and happiness in her family. Maybe that was the territory that came with being the son of a Death Eater. And being a Death Eater yourself.

"Did you love _her_, at least?" Hermione looked up at Malfoy, her eyes meeting his completely. They were the same as they always were. Cold, grey and a storm of confusion.

"No," he said after a moment. "I don't think so anyway." He shrugged. "How was I supposed to know if I did?"

Hermione looked down again. She didn't understand how this paper had just arrived and already Malfoy was talking as if his parents had been dead for years now. "Most of the time you would just know," Hermione mumbled absently. "Loving your parents should be like breathing."

"Not for me," Malfoy said, his eyes staring at the newspaper where it lay three feet away. Staring, but not really seeing.

"Why not?" Hermione's eyes stayed glued to her hands that were held tightly in her lap.

"I don't know."

"Malfoy…" Hermione looked up with an eye roll, knowing there must be more to the story.

"Look, I said I don't know! Just leave it." He pushed off his elbow and lay back down on his back, face to the ceiling. Hermione recoiled, fully aware that she wasn't going to get him to happily reminisce about the good old days.

She stood up after a moment. "Funeral is tomorrow."

"Not going." Malfoy pulled a pillow from behind his head and put it over his face before shooing Hermione out with a hand.

"You know," she said defiantly. "I know you do."

Of course he knew. Somewhere deep down, he must know. Nobody could live a life that way and not know the meaning of everything he was being subjected to. But that thought didn't stop Hermione from sleeping yet another restless night.

He was a great mystery to her, and every single time she spoke with him she got lost further and further into the riddle that was Draco Malfoy. Logically, each conversation, each piece of the puzzle, would bring the solver closer to the full picture. In reality, it just wasn't happening.

The Mystery wasn't one that Hermione originally wanted to solve, or even remotely cared about. Like that Literature project you never even wanted to start? And then you get halfway done and find out that, confusing as the language is, the characters and the storyline are more enticing than you ever imagined.

The news of the Malfoy deaths weren't exactly shocking. Hermione assumed it would happen eventually. Ron, Harry and the others probably knew as well. After the war, some Death Eaters had no choice but to run. Lucius Malfoy was caught, and put in prison. Narcissa, not having been one, was not captured. And Malfoy…well to Hermione it was still unknown if he was a full fledged Death Eater. She knew he worked for Voldemort, but there was one emblematic detail missing: The Mark.

The Dark Mark was as famous and symbolic as the Hogwarts Crest, to Hermione. It was an extensively known fact that Death Eaters all possessed the mark on their left forearm. After all, Harry's Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater theory grew from their sighting of Malfoy flinching when the robe maker came near his left arm. They never actually saw the mark, but for their entire sixth year Harry speculated.

Their sixth year, disastrous as it was towards the end, had been her last happy memory of Hogwarts as a real student. She didn't even know if she would go back. She assumed she would have to, her N.E.W.T.S were supposed to have been taken already. But that didn't matter now. For once in her life she wasn't the top student, prefect, 'outstanding' student she had been for the six years of her life. At eighteen, she didn't even know what she was anymore, if she would ever go back to school, or be able to get a job out in the real world.

The last few nights of a restless sleep had taken a toll on Hermione, and she didn't awake until nearly twelve the next day. Her sleep was in pieces, filled with odd dreams about her and Harry falling down a well, and Ron attempting to save them. The whole time he kept shouting, "I can't, I can't. She's here!" It made no sense. Neither did the bit that she was remembering from after the war. Families surrounded her, all hugging, and crying. Hermione was looking for someone, or something. She couldn't remember looking for anything when it actually happened. Dreams like these happened a lot lately. They were bad, and good. Most were changed around one tiny bit.

She lay in bed lazily for another half hour, before actually realizing that it was nearing one in the afternoon. Rolling her eyes at the thought of Malfoy, she got out of bed and tidied up after changing out of her nightclothes.

A surprise greeted her when she came down the stairs into the kitchen. Malfoy was sitting at the table, apparently reading the morning's issue of the Prophet.

"Feeling better are we?" she said scathingly, still tempered from the night before. Though she thought he might have gotten up to go to his parents funeral.

"Good afternoon to you too, Aurora. And, hardly." Malfoy redirected his attention to the paper. He didn't look much better than he had last night.

"Excuse me?" Hermione walked over to find herself something to eat…it was lunchtime after all.

"Well, saying 'sleeping beauty' would be too much of a lie." He didn't take his eyes off the paper. "And seeing as you weren't up, I had to fend for myself. Not a great way to leave a patient, Granger. Now, do you mind? I'm reading."

"Fine," Hermione said placidly, and went back upstairs without another word, or anything to eat. Her stomach growled for another hour after. She didn't want to go back downstairs. The thought of Malfoy sitting there, acting all superior when it was _his_ parents that were dead was just revolting.

The window of Hermione's bedroom was fogged, and she could see it was raining outside, pouring in fact. She briefly wondered where Ron was, and the rest of the group, what they were up to. Thunder boomed a few miles away, and light flashed in the window every half hour or so, increasing from every hour.

Close to dinnertime, Hermione decided to return downstairs and finally fill her stomach with something. She had heard Malfoy clunk back upstairs a few minutes before, and didn't hear much else after, and was glad that she could eat in silence and solitude.

The rain outside was still heavy, and lightening lit up the staircase as she went into the kitchen. It was eerie. As she stepped down to the last step it seemed to be fate that a loud crack of thunder sounded, and the few electrical lights in the house were out in a moment.

"Great," Hermione mumbled to herself. "This is just what I need."

It took a moment for Hermione's eyes to adjust to the pitch black, and once she did, she found her bearings. Using the lightening as a guide, she walked over to the cupboard on the other side of the kitchen. Of course she had left her wand upstairs, not thinking she would need it. There were a few candles and an old dusty box of matches crammed into the back of the cupboard.

She took two candles and lit them, placing them on the kitchen table, and then lit another in her hand, leaving it in the old fashioned older. Food was completely forgotten, now that the power was out, she stumbled around the kitchen and down the hall. The newspaper from the night before was in the hallway drawer. Malfoy had thought she hadn't seen him put it there. The entire situation made her suddenly grateful for her parents, and for her life. Scary at times, she was still alive. She tore out the second page of the article, the one with the address of the cemetery on it, and folded it, placing it into her back pocket.

Hermione made her way back upstairs a few minutes later…strangely curious to see if Malfoy was sleeping after seeing that newspaper again. She knocked on the door. The two hadn't been on good terms since their talk the night before, and she didn't want to be forward. But, he didn't answer, and it was unlocked so she pushed the door open a bit.

"Powers gone out." She whispered into the room. Then as she opened the door further, she noticed that he had charmed several candles to float about the room. "Oh."

"I got the memo." Malfoy said from his bed where a book was propped up on his stomach, a light shining down on its pages.

"Is it all right if I…" Hermione motioned to enter the room and put a foot in the door. She saw Malfoy shrug half-heartedly and took that as an invitation.

She took a seat at the desk near the door and put her candle down on the top. Malfoy didn't take his eyes of the book, and the candles continued to dance around. Hermione became mesmerized. The candles to her created light in everything. They created happier times. Brighter days when there was no fear, no history of war. And no patients needing to be taken care of under her jurisdiction.

"Granger."

Hermione looked down suddenly, tearing her eyes away from the beautiful alternate reality in her mind. "Yeah?"

"You've been sitting there for half an hour and haven't said anything." Malfoy had put his book down, closed, next to him. It was still pouring outside, but the vicious weather had begun to cease.

"I…I wanted to apologize," Hermione said suddenly, almost surprising herself. "I'm sorry for what happened last night. I shouldn't have said those things…your relationship with your parents…"

"It's fine. I'm fine." He pushed himself up in bed with his good arm and sat on the edge.

Hermione looked down at her knees. She hadn't planned a big apology, she hadn't actually planned anything when she came up here.

"Anyways. I'm sorry."

Malfoy nodded, and looked at her again. "There's something I need. But I can't go alone."

Hermione stood up. "Go where?" He pointed to the newspaper in her back pocket.

"Closure, Granger. Ten minutes is all I need."

"You're not supposed to leave…It's dangerous…" Hermione was shaking her head defiantly. "I told the Weasley's that nothing would go wrong. If you're seen…"

"We're in the middle of a storm, and it's night time. Nobody is there, I'm sure of it." Malfoy stood up slowly and reached for his coat at the foot of the bed.

"I still don't think it's a good idea. You can't go."

"Not alone I can't. I don't have the strength to apparate on my own." He eyed her and she knew.

"Ooh, no. I'm not going to be involved in your crazy schemes. I'm putting my foot down." She sat back down in the chair at the desk.

"Look. I know we don't get along, and obviously, I don't want to have to do this any more than you do, but it's my only option at the moment."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn't want something bad to happen. Why not though, it was only Malfoy. But she didn't want to disappoint Mr and Mrs Weasley. Malfoy was struggling to get his coat over his broken arm.

"Fine." Hermione stood up and crossed the room. "Here, let me help." He dropped his good arm and let her untie the sling at the back of his neck and wrap it tightly around his forearm. It was easier then, to slide the sleeve on. "All right then?"

Malfoy nodded and took her offered arm. Side-along apparition wasn't something Hermione enjoyed, but she almost felt as if she had no choice. After getting settled, Malfoy picked up his wand from the desk and both turned on the spot at the same moment.


	7. The Magic in the Storm Pt 2

yayyyy. it's a pretty short chapter compared to the rest but I've been meaning to update. please review, good or bad. =] I wrote this chapter...ugh probably three different times in three different ways. This one won out in the end. The others were too sappy.

_Chapter Seven_

_The Magic In the Storm _

_Part II_

I never thought I'd change my opinion again,

But you moved me in a way that I've never known.

You moved me in a way that I've never known.

Savage Garden - Break Me, Shake Me

The cemetery was pitch black, aside from the occasional bolt of lightening. The rain was pouring harder than ever all of a sudden. Malfoy released himself from Hermione quickly and set off toward the left somewhere. The direction didn't mean much, as Hermione could barely see two inches in front of her.

"Do you even know where you're going?" She called over the rain and thunder.

"They've had their plots since the first war." Malfoy said as he paused and turned halfway around. "Now, are you coming?"

He turned away again and Hermione jogged to catch up. "I don't know if…it doesn't feel right." She slowed alongside him once she met him. He shrugged, which Hermione took to mean she could leave, but she didn't.

They walked in silence for a minute or two, though it seemed like ages. Hermione felt uncomfortable, but she had promised the Weasleys there would be no problems and she was already breaking the rules without knowing why. Ten feet away, she stopped; the large ivory stone was outstandingly somber above the fresh mounds of dirt.

Malfoy continued walking, but slower. Once he was close enough he stood there for a long time, hands in his pockets. The rain would let up and stop momentarily, and then start again with a vengeance. Like a pendulum, going through the motions. Hermione didn't know exactly how long it had been; minutes, hours. Measurements of time began to bleed together.

"It's getting late," Hermione called. There was no reply. Malfoy didn't even move. The rain poured harder, and Hermione tightened her hood and glanced at the sky as it flashed. "Malfoy?" She thought she saw him nod, or make some other head movement. But the dark and the lightening and thunder were messing with her mind.

She saw Malfoy bend down slowly, reaching for something on the ground with his good arm. He picked something up carefully in his hand. Hermione couldn't see what it was and stepped closer, anxious. Just as she did, he reeled back momentarily, chucking a large rock at the face of the headstone. A huge _crack_ sounded, and in the flash of lightening, she saw a hole where a chunk of granite was only seconds before.

Just as Malfoy went to pick up another nearby rock, Hermione raced to him. "What are you doing?" She shouted above the weather. She held back his arm as he prepared for another launch. "Just _stop._" She told him.

"Don't tell me what to do, Granger," Malfoy hollered. He paused a moment, and then chucked the second rock at the center of the headstone.

"You're being stupid," she said quietly. Malfoy didn't reach for another rock. He turned around sharply without taking another look at the graves and glided past Hermione quickly.

"Malfoy!"

He kept walking, ignoring her as she tried to keep up with him again.

"What aren't you saying?"

"Nothing worth hearing, I promise."

"Why can't you just talk to people?" Hermione whispered, now stopping where she was. Malfoy stopped a few feet in front of her, not turning around.

"You don't understand. And I promise, you never will," he said, sighing. "At least, I hope you never do."

"Don't you, though?" Hermione snorted. And then she regretted it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"You're right. Most people would think that. But contrary to popular belief, I'm not a bad person," he said, and then took a deep breath. "I'm not really evil. I could never _be_ evil." Hermione sat down a few feet away from him on a nearby bench, and he stood in the rain. Hermione just sat, and she listened. "My parents, my...father, was a bad person. He was an evil man. But he thought what he was doing was right. And...so did I, for a time. Even through last year I still had faith that what he was doing was for the best, and everything he told me was what everyone _should_ and _would_ believe...if they had any sort of intelligence at all. But now I know for sure...that they were wrong."

"Why now? All of the sudden?"

He laughed. He actually laughed. It wasn't a big laugh, but a small one, with a surprised, amused smile. "You, actually." He didn't let her interrupt. "Even though I never wanted to admit it, you're one of the smartest people I've ever met. And when my parents died, I thought about that. Because if the intelligent people were doing the right thing...why weren't you doing what we were, why were you muggle-born? And I knew I was wrong my whole life. And my parents were wrong."

"Those are some big words, Malfoy," Hermione said. She didn't know if she was willing to accept those things yet.

"I know. I don't expect you to believe me."

"I didn't _say_ that. I said they're big words." She stood up and took his arm. "It's pouring out here, lets go back."

Hermione was going to turn to apparate when Malfoy kissed her. Somehow, they still managed to apparate back to his room where the had come from. It seemed like it was ages ago, when it had only been just over an hour.

"I-" Hermione stepped away very quickly. The kiss only lasted moments, the time it took them to return, and a short moment after. "I have to go. Now," she said. And with a foggy, confused head, she left the bedroom. And even though she could just barely hear Malfoy ("Wait, Granger, I-") in her ringing ears, she ignored him, taking off down the hall into her own bedroom.

When she got there everything silenced. The ringing stopped, and although her heart was still beating quickly, it stopped pounding audibly in her chest. She sat down on her bed, glanced once at the clock and flopped onto her back. Not bothering to change her clothes, she found comfort in snuggling deep beneath her comforter and closing her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of her pillow.

In the other room, Malfoy lowered himself to the floor, leaning against the wall beneath the window. Lightening still flashed and thunder still shook the delicate building. "Damn," he muttered to himself. And he could still smell the faint traces of Jasmine as he rested his head in the crook of his good arm. He wasn't about to sleep, he was too wired. He had gotten the closure he needed from the visit to the cemetery, for now at least. And now he didn't want to think about it. So he stood up, getting off to an okay start, but falling into his doorway as soon as he swung the door open and had to lean against the door jam to catch his breath, his heart beginning to speed up and his throat slowly becoming scratchy and swollen. He coughed a few times and let it pass, slowly padding down to Hermione's room. He knocked once.

Inside, Hermione was still wide awake, though desperately trying to fall asleep and escape to somewhere...anywhere else. But she knew that if she closed her eyes that she would be thinking about the day, about the night. And everything she didn't need or want to be worrying about. Like the fact that she nearly enjoyed.... So she didn't answer. She pretended to be sound asleep.

"C'mon, Granger. I know you're not asleep already. You're not that tired," Malfoy called through the closed door.

She held her breath and the majority of her silently wished him to go away. Of course, the rest of her wished him to keep trying.

"Just say I can come in," He said quietly, gentler than before. Still she was silent. "Just say I can't come in," he said in the same tone, trying to catch her in a trap. It worked, she was once again silent.

So he opened the door. Hermione was curled up in her bed, facing the wall, in a fetal position. Her eyes were wide open, staring into space. Malfoy didn't bother to shut the door behind him. But he sad down on the edge of her bed and turned halfway to face her.

"I'm sorry that happened," he said, though it wasn't exactly true, and Hermione knew it.

"You scare me," Hermione said.

Malfoy snorted, only to keep himself from laughing. "Did you miss the speech I gave back there? I thought-"

"No," Hermione said, a slightly nervous laugh following her words. "You scare me. You scare me because you _don't_ scare me. Because I'm _not_ hexing you for sitting there right now. Because I don't want to be afraid of you anymore. We still have days left to deal with one another...it's too much work to keep our guards up all the time."

Malfoy stared at Hermione, who was still staring at the wall or into space. She didn't want eye contact. If they made eye contact, neither one knew if they would be able to keep themselves from doing something regrettable. So he stared at her, and she stared at nothing. His eyes traced the outline and shape of her face. Her browbone, her nose, her chin. And she drew pictures on the wall in her mind. Pictures from the past. Laughing with her friends, her brief moments of terror for their lives in the past. Her parents, vacations with them in the countryside, at the beach...anything that came into her mind was a mural before her very eyes.

After many minutes, she spoke. "You kissed me," she whispered.

"I did."

"And..." She was fishing for words. But from him or herself, neither of them knew. It hadn't been planned, it hadn't been foreseen. But there was a knowledge in Hermione's brain that she couldn't deny: she wasn't afraid of it. And that terrified her the most of all. She knew she could never tell anyone. Until now, she never kept secrets from her friends, but now she knew she would have to because this would break them.

"I apologized. But it was a formality," Malfoy sighed. "I'm not sorry."

"You should be, though, right? You should be ashamed. So should I."

"But you're not."

The room was quiet. It was hauntingly quiet. The storm outside had stopped completely, there was no sound from insects or animals. The only sounds were inside their minds; the screaming and the protesting. They still refused to look at one another, to stare the truth in the face.


	8. Conversation At Sunrise

Surprise. This is a very short chapter, but it's just to let you know that I'm alive and I'm around and I'm writing. So this is just a teaser, and the rest of the story will be coming along (I hope!).

Thank you for all the support and reviews, and please review again and let me know your thoughts.

_**JKR OWNS**_

_Chapter 8_

_Conversation at Sunrise_

And when you looked into my eyes

Felt a sudden sense of urgency.

Fascination casts a spell

And you became more than just a mystery

Savage Garden – Chained To You

The affects of the evening wouldn't wear off of either party. Even after the awkward moments in Hermione's room, even after Malfoy had returned to his own room to attempt sleep, neither was settled. Hermione tossed and turned for the rest of the night, only falling into a light sleep toward morning. Malfoy didn't even try to sleep. His constant coughing kept him sitting up against the wall all night.

Hermione got up just after the sun started to rise. The light cast dusty shadows in the dark kitchen and she started some coffee, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Out of the window, she saw the curve of the sun over the horizon as it crept slowly upward toward the sky. She stared into it's light for several moments, unaware of the time passing by her. She heard the footsteps coming down the stairs, and the sliding of the chair at the kitchen table. But she couldn't bring herself to turn around.

She didn't know what to expect from him. And worse, she didn't know what to expect from herself.

"'Morning," he whispered from behind her.

She forced a smile on her face, not caring whether or not it looked real, and turned around to face him, staring at a spot just above his head. "Good Morning."

Pause.

"Sleep well?"

"Not really, no," she told him. "Boffee? Er, uh-creakfast? I…" She cleared her throat after jumbling up her words. "Are you hungry?" She corrected.

"Not really, no."

Hermione nodded and turned back around, opening and closing the cupboards, looking for something that wasn't there.

"Do you…need help with anything? Breakfast?"

Hermione turned halfway around, mid stretch to the top shelf and on her toes. "I thought you weren't hungry," she said. Then, her grip on the old cupboard brought the door tumbling down onto the counter where it cracked. Hermione jumped and moved out of the way just before it landed on the kitchen floor where her feet would have been.

Malfoy had rushed to her side, trying to catch the door before it fell, but he wasn't quick enough.

"Oops," Hermione said. "Guess I wasn't thinking." She bent over and picked up the door, placing it on the table.

Malfoy had a smirk on his face as he watched her recover from the accidental embarrassment.

"What?" she asked, dusting off her hands.

Malfoy shook his head. "Nothing," he whispered. He had this look on his face…like he was lost. But it was as if he couldn't be happier about it. His mind just seemed to be elsewhere.

"Are you alright?" Hermione said. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "Did _you_ sleep okay?"

"Not at all."

Hermione's forehead creased. "You're acting strange. I should send an owl to Mr. Weasley." She began to walk away. But Malfoy stopped her, a hand on her arm.

"Don't." He still had that same look on his face, with the smallest of smiles.

Hermione looked at him. "What's going on?"

His smile turned back into his trademark smirk. But it wasn't filled with arrogance. It was filled with honesty. Hermione didn't recognize it.

"I love-"

Hermione quickly covered his mouth with her hand. "Don't say that. _Please_ don't say that." She lowered her hand.

"But it's true. And I know you know it."

"You're sick. You don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."

He pulled out a chair and sat down, looking up at Hermione. He felt like a child, and inside, he was screaming at himself. He wanted to plead to her. He took her hands, and she looked away, over her shoulder. The sun was higher in the sky now, and it sent brighter streaks of light through the window onto the wooden table.

"I _love_ you," Malfoy said. "Or- at least I think I do."

Hermione shook her head.

"I don't know why. I don't know how."

"It's the fever talking…your arm, it's still broken." Hermione repeated the words to herself, even in her head. She tried to convince herself.

"I don't have a fever. And my arm barely hurts anymore. Granger, I-"

"Stop it! Stop saying that!" Hermione tore her hands away from him and backed into the corner of the kitchen. "You don't know what you're saying. You just need to stop, please." Her voice became quiet and it sounded as if she were afraid her voice could break something.

Malfoy looked into his hands, empty now. "I'm sorry," he said. She looked like a child hiding from a monster under the bed. But then again, maybe she _was_ hiding. Maybe she was hiding from a monster.

"I don't think you even have the ability to feel that," Hermione said from the corner, the sun casting a single sliver of light across her face.

"I almost wish I couldn't."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's nothing," Malfoy said. "I think I'm feeling sick again. I should…go rest."

"Good idea." Hermione slowly came out from the corner into the brighter sunlight.

Malfoy caught the sight of her as he stood to head back upstairs. He didn't know exactly what was going on inside him. But he knew that with her around, he didn't care very much about life-threatening broken bones or magical illnesses. Because they couldn't touch him while she was there. He looked away quickly, cursing under his breath. What would his school friends think if they knew about this? Lifetime of ridicule.

"Well," Malfoy said at the base of the steps, "Maybe you were right. Maybe it is the illness. I mean…me, in love with a mudblood? It's just not possible."

In an instant Hermione felt as if she had the wind knocked out of her and she crumpled into a chair at the table when Malfoy's back was turned and he limped up the stairs.


	9. An Interlude: Asylum

Well hello there! Long time no see! Well I'm ridiculously busy. But It's been almost a year since I last updated. So I finished off this TINY section and I'm adding it as "Chapter Nine, An Interlude". So you know my chapters are usually much longer than this. And Chapter ten will be MASSIVE. But it might take a while. So expect it around January/February and it will be well worth the wait, I promise ;). For now, enjoy this, review, and let me know if you have questions or anything. Thanks so much for the support. xx

Chapter Nine

**An Interlude**: _Asylum_

I could just pretend that you love me

The night would lose all sense of fear.

But why do I need you to love me?

If you can't hold what I hold dear?

Tori Amos - Leather

Hermione wasn't crying. She forced herself to be calm. She stood up from the chair and threw it back in line with the others along the table. She gripped the back of it with white knuckles, breathing deeply. She wouldn't let this bother her. There was no reason for it to. She had heard the word a thousand and one times in the last seven years. It was no different, especially from Draco Malfoy.

The sun was up completely now, lighting the kitchen with a soft glow. There were dust particles bouncing through the yellow hues. Less hungry than minutes ago, Hermione went into the living room and opened the shades a couple inches, hoping to get some decent light in. The calm after the storm was so beautiful. Even in the protected, charmed house, she could hear the children playing on the sidewalk.

She flopped into an oversized chair near the fireplace, her body becoming limp only a few minutes after waking. The bookshelf to her left was still fairly dusty, but she wiped off a few titles and ran her fingers over them gently. They were old, barely legible; some were novels, plays, and foreign language poetry. She sat next to them while time passed like an aging bruise. She took one out, placed it on her lap and opened to the first page. Then she stopped, closed it in anger and shoved it back on the shelf.

"Hermione?" A voice called out from the hallway. It wasn't Malfoy, but Ron.

Hermione jumped up from her hair and raced to the hall.

"Hey," Ron said. He had a light jacket on over his clothes, and his hair was disheveled.

Hermione threw her arms around his neck, relieved. "What are you doing here?" she said, her voice muffled in the hug.

"Just passing through. Mum said I should stop. How is everything?"

Ron released Hermione and she led him into the kitchen.

"Oh, fine. Nothing exciting to speak of." She turned off the coffee without even checking if it was done, just to busy her hands.

"How's the mental patient?"

Hermione's shrug was shaky. "He broods…he sleeps. Not much different than normal if you ask me," she said, her attempt at a laugh sounded like she had a sore throat.

"Are you okay? You seem…off."

Ron was looking at her with concern. Hermione hadn't realized that she began to fidget with the hem of her shirt, and her eyes raced from Ron's face to the base of the stairs. Hoping – praying that Malfoy stayed in his room and didn't want to see her. Of course, another part of her begged him to come down the stairs. She needed to read him, to know exactly what he was thinking and what had gotten a hold of him.

"Fine!" Hermione said with a bit too much excitement. "Just jittery is all. I haven't been getting much sleep – I think I'm over tired. Maybe I should rest some more…"

"Sure, then. You should go rest. I can't stay, so I'll be back again soon. Things are going better than we expected. A lot of people have been properly arrested and neighborhoods are getting cleaned up again."

"That's great, Ron. I'm really proud of you, you know." Hermione smiled, but it was shaky and lacking any self-confidence.

"I love you, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

Ron kissed Hermione on the cheek and left the way he came in.

She leaned in the doorframe for ages, watching the dust particles dance in the sunlight that filtered through the half open curtains.

"I can't do this," she whispered to herself. She took her sweater off the hook and donned it, braving the real world on the outside of Number 12 Grimmauld place.

Malfoy heard the front door shut from his hiding place on the mid-way staircase landing. He tapped his wand on the railing in impatience and frustration. _Why?_ _Why her?_

He heard the interaction with Weasley; she didn't seem even remotely excited to see him. And she should have been. Because none of this should have happened. Malfoy should have known better than to kiss her, to…let himself _feel_.

Of course, he didn't love her. He _couldn't_. He had only spent a few days actually being kind to her. Sure, he had seen her grow up over the years. He couldn't deny what he said hours ago. She _was_ intelligent, and she did cross his mind every time that he contemplated right and wrong; good and evil. He couldn't deny that when he called her a mudblood, he immediately regretted it. He couldn't deny the twisting in his gut when Weasley came through the door, professing his love. These things were all true. But love? He wasn't sure he even knew the word. He didn't know if he had ever seen it in his life. Surely not from his father. _Maybe…_just maybe from his mother. Once or twice when he was very young. But those memories were all a fuzzy blur now, replaced by the dark mark, Voldemort' s menacing eyes in the distance of all his dreams.

He never wanted any of it.

Hermione apparated and found herself in Godric's Hollow. She walked through the warm, comforting village, into a coffee shop. Taking a seat, she ordered a coffee and muffin to nibble on.

People passed, couples, children, lonely elderly women. Hermione watched them. They smiled; they laughed. The sun was bright after the previous night's storm. She assumed a few power-lines were down in the muggle-inhabited parts of the area. But Godric's Hollow was alive and well. She glanced down the road through the window, to Harry's old house, which was still a landmark. Briefly she thought of him, before her thoughts landed on Ron.

Ron. Who had so professed his love for her again. And she did love him, of course she did. And even though her heart did back flips when Malfoy kissed her, and even though the mere sight of him had her nervous and childlike, and even though the idea of something dark and mysterious excited her to no end…it wasn't possible. Draco Malfoy didn't have the capacity to love. Especially her. Especially a mudblood.

She didn't even want him to try.


	10. An Interlude: Concessions

**JKR OWNS**

Well, hello there. Long time, no? Okay, remember how I said 10 would be MASSIVE and to expect in in like…January of this past year? Well, I went to Europe for three months, and fanfiction was the last thing on my mind. Luckily I've been having horrible writer's block for my actual fiction classes and I turn to FF to get something written. So I wrote another Interlude, again about half the length of my usual chapters, but I wrote it all in a couple hours, just for you guys. Don't give up on me. I care so much about this story and I hope you do too!

_Chapter Ten_

**An Interlude**:_ Concessions_

Maybe I'm not up for

being a victim of love.

All my resistance will

never be distance enough.

Driving away from the

wreck of the day, and

it's finally quiet in my head.

Anna Nalick – Wreck of The Day 

By the time Hermione came back through the front door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the sun was low, tingeing the sky with peach as the stars began to peek out from behind hazy clouds. After treating herself to three...or maybe five drinks at a bar in Godric's Hollow, she stumbled through the streets to the house. As she threw her coat on a hook, leaning for a moment to stop the spinning, she recognized the low sound of strings coming from the old muggle record player in the front room.

She peeked through the doorway to find Malfoy sitting in the large leather chair by the window, reading. Her eyelids felt heavy.

"Granger? You all right?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Fine," she said after a long moment, "why?"

"Because you seem a little…drunk." Malfoy closed the book in his lap and put it on the floor.

She laughed softly. "Maybe jus' a little."

"Can you make it upstairs all right?"

Hermione's laugh subsided and for a long moment she closed her eyes. Malfoy stared at her. The light from the sunset, filtered through her windswept hair. He truly never had been taught the meaning of love. The closest he had come was his old neighbor, Gemma when he was six. They spent every day during school holidays together. He helped her up when she fell off her bike. And at night, when the sun filtered through the trees with this same color, she helped him sneak past his parents. When his parents found out she was a muggle, she disappeared. They said that she moved away and he believed them…for a while.

But this…this moment.

Hermione dropped her purse with a thud, and the noise startled her eyes open and try to focus on the scene in front of her. She missed Ron. She missed Harry. Ginny. George. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Tears welled up behind her eyes and she felt them become puffy. She felt the pressure behind her forehead. She missed them, and she could cry because she didn't need them right now. There was something else she was missing and she couldn't put her finger on it. But as the strings in the background swelled to a crescendo and then died to a quiet, rainy day melody, the first few tears dripped down her cheeks. She crossed the room to where Malfoy was sitting and slipped into his lap, curling up into a ball on his chest.

At first, Malfoy was still as a statue, frozen in confusion, and then Hermione's body became wracked with sobs and he wrapped his arms around her, every so gently, one at a time. He held tighter and tighter for seconds, minutes, an hour, until she became still. She slept, he didn't. He tried to read around her, but he couldn't focus, not with her peacefully resting there, her dreams momentarily taking away whatever pain she was hiding inside.

The sun had long been down behind the sky, and the clock in the kitchen sounded a quiet notification of midnight. Malfoy tried to shift his weight under Hermione, his legs having become numb an hour or two ago. As he did so, she stirred.

Hermione's face felt puffy, and tired. Her head didn't hurt; she really hadn't had that much to drink. And then she processed her surroundings. The music had long stopped playing, and the only light was a soft glow coming from the kitchen.

"Oh, - I…I'm sorry."

"You…you just sort of…it's fine."

She pushed away from Malfoy gently, glancing around in the darkness.

Malfoy helped her stand, and stood up as well.

"Did you want to talk about it?"

Hermione shook her head, referring to her minor meltdown. "I'm okay, now." She tried to smile, but she knew it wasn't convincing.

Malfoy nodded. "Sure. Well…I think I'm going to go to bed…"

He and Hermione ascended the staircase together, each to their respective rooms. They washed, changed and slipped under the sheets, alone.

Malfoy slept on his back, the side of his body suddenly beginning to feel pain again. He hadn't noticed as Hermione slept on him that she was leaning heavily on some still-painful bones. Now he felt it, and reached over to his night table for a mild numbing potion. It cooled his senses and the racing thoughts in his mind. And for a minute, he forgot the tension in his chest when she lay on him, soaking his shirt with tears.

Three days came and went. Hermione lost track of when everyone was supposed to return home. The letters from Ron weren't dated, so she couldn't check the days and add or subtract to figure it out, as she normally would.

The house was quiet, Hermione cooked, sometimes with help from Malfoy who would appear for his medicines, rather than having her deliver them each time. They talked about the news, the latest Quidditch scores and, sometimes, a book or two they both had taken a liking to. They never touched unless it was a complete accident. They never stared into each other's eyes for more than a brief, painful moment and nobody, ever uttered an L-word again. She felt as if she could finally be at peace, and be genuinely happy and content once Ron returned home and they could laugh and be with one another in the way that they used to. And so she was surprised when the family walked through the front door, and she ran them. She greeted Harry and Ginny and George and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. And she ran to Ron, hugging the life out of him. And she cried from the loneliness and she kissed the boy she loved and he smiled and nuzzled his face in her neck. And she felt nothing, nothing like she used to.

Thoughts/Comments/Hate/Whatever – please review! I love to hear from you all. Thanks for keeping up with me after all these years.

xx Euria.


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